Dark Come Soon
by quafflelicious
Summary: Sometimes she forgets what humanity means.
1. Part 1

Santana used to think of the future. Get out of Lima. Take Brittany. Be free.

There's nothing more freeing than the whole world now, she thinks often. She chuckles bitterly—there's nothing more freeing than a population of next to none.

Santana used to think of the future. Now she thinks of one foot in front of the other. The skies seem darker, even though the climate hasn't changed. Smiles aren't happy things—they're simply reassurance for her companions. _Yes, they say. Yes, I'm alive. Yes, I'm still human._

Still, sometimes she forgets what humanity means. Sometimes she feels like they've lost it completely.

Puck's eyes are duller, his jokes fewer. Kurt hardly talks, his hair messy and his clothing ignored. She's got more scars than she'd care for. Quinn and Rachel grip each other like there's nothing else keeping their hearts beating.

Even Brittany, once the light of her life, is barely enough to keep her going.

* * *

><p>They drive slowly, a reserved silence constantly surrounding them.<p>

Puck nearly hits a squirrel. Quinn yells at him to be more careful, what does he want to do, kill them?

Kurt is the first to grin, and every one starts laughing.

It's the most fun they've had in months.

* * *

><p>She's gotten used to sleeping on the metal bed of Puck's truck. It's easier when she has Brit entwined with her, but it does little for warmth. The sun comes up too early—darkness has always been her friend—and everyone on the truck is still asleep. Santana lies in the stillness of that moment, imagining that time has stopped…that there's no more death or half-death or sickness. There's just the early morning quiet, the blankets, and the forever resting bodies of the people she cares about the most. But the moment ends as a soft voice starts singing, and the heartbeats return.<p>

Her ears prick at the sound, and she knows immediately that it's Rachel. Rachel, who stopped singing for an audience that couldn't hear her properly anyways. It's still her turn for watch, and she's camped out somewhere next to the truck, singing like she can't.

Santana wants to stop her, to stop the world turning, but the song goes on.

She closes her eyes again, trying to grasp the notes that just seem to blow into the trees like ghosts and disappear for good.

* * *

><p>The car breaks down. They have enough gas to keep going, but Puck swears there's no way to fix his truck.<p>

They take only what they can carry, except for Puck, who insists that gasoline is useful and that they'll probably need it. Everyone else doesn't care, and he carries it all by himself anyways.

They don't have maps for this part of the country. Traveling on foot is excruciatingly slow, but they continue in the direction they think is the right one.

* * *

><p>It was the wrong way. It's a grey afternoon, time for rest, and Quinn is on watch. Her cries are blood-curdling, and Santana's never woken from sleep so fast. She's up, her crowbar in hand, and she sees them.<p>

Ten or so undead, three already surrounding Quinn.

Puck gets to Quinn first, his baseball bat crunching into zombie skull as he whips and spins.

The rest are left to her, and she rushes into it with a passion only singing could rouse and only zombie-killing could take from. Her crowbar seems lighter from repetitive use, and she swings it with a terrifying ease.

It's over almost as soon as it starts. Kurt collapses onto his knees next to her, his hatchet bloody and his expression blank. She begins to take stock of everyone else.  
>Puck seems fine, just winded and breathing heavily. She feels Brittany's hand on the small of her back, and her breath starts to become more regular.<p>

But then she turns to Quinn, whose eyes lock on hers. Rachel is rushing over to her, but Quinn's pained eyes don't look away from Santana's.

She feels it in the pit of her stomach before her brain registers the torn fabric of Quinn's sleeve and the mangled flesh under it.

"No," Rachel says, "no."

But Quinn turns to look at her in a way that begs acceptance, dragging it out from her very essence. This time, the smile means it's over.

* * *

><p>They lay her on they least ratty blanket they have. She shakes with fever, but the hand she has wrapped around Rachel's wrist is frozen to the touch.<p>

Santana watches from a few feet away as the grey creeps up Quinn's neck. Quinn's spasms are torture to watch, but she can't look away. She feels the gun being slipped into her hand quietly. Puck, eyes rimmed red, kneels next to Rachel. His soft words do little to convince her to move, and her screams echo in Santana's ears as Puck scoops her up in his arms and carries her through the trees.

She knows it's time, but it's only a slight nod from Kurt that drives her numb feet forward. She's left alone; her friends absorbed into the trees like the shadows of Rachel's last song.

She kneels next to Quinn, her expression as hard as she can make it without cracking her jaw.

There's a flicker of recognition in Quinn's cloudy hazel eyes, her breathing sparse and heavy. Santana brushes the hair from her eyes, her other hand cocking the revolver as she brings it up to Quinn's temple.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

She feels the recoil go straight into her chest.

* * *

><p>Puck digs the grave, using a piece of scrap metal for a shovel. It cuts into his hands, but he doesn't stop, digging with a furious conviction. Santana just watches the blood trickle down his fingers, but Kurt gently stops him. He ties each hand with pieces of a relatively clean shirt. A silent thanks passes between them, and Kurt goes back to sit by Rachel. Her tears have become silent…not even a whimper escapes her lips.<p>

* * *

><p>They lower her blanket wrapped body as slowly as they can, like it'll slow time too.<p>

"We should say something," Santana says, her jaw still tense. No one volunteers.

"Quinn was… she was…"

"A bad-ass," Puck says.

"My friend," Kurt offers, ever so quietly.

"Yeah. And, um, since we're already living in hell, I'm pretty sure she's in hea—somewhere nice."

It's all she can manage to say.

They've packed their things, and one by one they walk away from the shallow grave.

* * *

><p>Rachel never sings again.<p>

* * *

><p>They travel through the trees, the mossy side their compass. It's midday when Kurt picks up the sound of water. His arm flies in front of Santana as he presses a finger to his lips.<p>

"What?" she grumbles.

He merely cups his ear. She hears it distantly—the splash of a creek over shallow rocks.

"We should stop," she calls out to the group. Puck turns.

"Why? We need to keep moving."

"Water," she says simply, dropping her bag and crouching beside it. She rummages through it for three dusty plastic bottles, two of them completely depleted. Her companions sit down beside her, Kurt graciously taking all their empty water containers. He and Santana set out towards the sound of running water. It's only about forty feet from the camp site; a mostly shallow creek a few meters wide. They strip off their shoes and socks and wade partway into the stream, the cold water lapping at their feet.

It's silent except for the bubbles of air escaping the bottles and the water splashing over the rocks. If it were sixteen months ago, Santana thinks Kurt would try and fill that silence, and she would get a chance to snark at him. But so much has changed; Kurt now revels in silence and Santana wallows in guilt. The bottles fill soon enough, and they slosh back towards the shore.

"I think I'm going to wash up," she states, and Kurt just nods as he puts his shoes back on. He carries armfuls of the bottles back silently from the stream.

Once he's gone, she strips off all her clothing. Parts of it are faded and yellowing, stains from sweat, blood, and dirt all blended together. She shivers slightly at the cool air, and wades, once again, into the stream. At the deepest part of the stream the water rises to just above her navel, and she stops.

She closes her eyes: partly against the cold and partly to reclaim the fantasy she had in the truck the week before they lost Quinn. But a gust of wind blows suddenly over the water, and she feels raw and ragged and she remembers the way Quinn's hollow eyes looked when she pulled the trigger. Her breathing becomes equated to hyperventilating, and she nearly collapses into the stream. Suddenly she feels two strong arms wrap around her, one warm palm on her stomach, the other right over her heart.

_You_'_re_ _ok, she hears Brittany whisper into her ear, _you_'_re_ _ok._ _Just_ _breathe.______________

She chokes back her sobs, her breath slowing down as she leans into Brittany's chest. She's unaware of time passing, only of Brittany's warm palm reflecting her own heartbeat and the soothing words flowing into her ears. And for a while, she feels human again.


	2. Part 2

She looks down once, during their long march, and she sees their fingertips brushing together.

She's forgotten how it feels.

* * *

><p>They're making there way through a small town-Missouri, she remembers-when they stumble on a car. An un-crashed, whole car, with the keys still in the ignition.<p>

"What is _that_?" Santana says, even though she knows. She opens the door and hops in, running her fingers over the steering wheel.

"Do think it still works?" she says, glancing at Puck and the gas he still carries.

"If you think I'm wasting the gas on a joy ride, you're out of your mind."

"C'mon, Puck. Live a little," Kurt says, nudging Rach with his elbow. She gives the smallest smile, and Puck gives in.

"Fine. But I call shotgun."

The others pile into the backseat after he fills the tank, and Santana nearly cries when the engine starts up.

"Ready?" she says, just to draw out the anticipation further, and Puck shoves her with an exacerbated "c'mon."

She's off like a shot, Puck whooping next to her, Kurt's laughter from the backseat washing over her tired ears, and she cracks a grin as she speeds, truly speeds, shifting gears like it hasn't been forever since she's driven. It feels like forever since they've done _this_, since they've _been_ this, since they've done something, anything, without the huge cloud of lifeless hopelessness that's constantly hanging over them. They're actually having fun, and she's grinning as she takes them careening wildly down the main street, squealing the brakes on crazy turns.

But it ends almost as soon as it starts. She looks into the rearview mirror as the car slows to a stop, gas depleted, to see Kurt's wild grin and Rachel's small smile, and then her eyes flicker to Brit-eyes blank. Her face is expressionless, staring forward, like she's not really there.

The moments before sink to hollowness in Santana's stomach.

* * *

><p>Later that night, they rest on a rocky outcropping. She lies with one arm over her eyes, her feet and head propped up on matching boulders.<p>

She tries to block out the sound of boots crunching and quiet whispers, but her ears only listen more intently. She hears Rachel tell Puck to let her leave and she gets up to keep him from following. His isn't really the comfort she needs right now.

And partly because she feels like she's losing Brit, she's the one that goes after Rachel. She finds her sitting on a boulder a hundred feet away. Her eyes are shiny with tears and she clasps her hands ever-so-tightly on her lap.

Santana sits down next to her awkwardly, her palms resting next to her thighs in case she gets the urge to bolt.

"You're the only one who knows what it's like."

It's like she's been shot in the chest.

* * *

><p>It's odd how quickly she's shattered, her memories returning like they were never gone in the first place.<p>

* * *

><p><em>'Santana!' <em>  
><em>The blonde haired girl races through the trees in front of her.<em>  
><em>'Come on S, run faster!'<em>  
><em>The girl laughs as she spins, her smile wide and her blue eyes twinkling.<em>

* * *

><p>They're on the road again, but Santana barely notices. She walks as if in a trance, her vision flashing with memories.<p>

* * *

><p><em>'Marry me, S? One day?'<em>

* * *

><p>She nearly stumbles, Puck reaching to steady her, but she shrugs him off.<p>

* * *

><p><em>'Brit, we need to get out of here-'<em>

_'-I'm not leaving them!'_

_She tears out of her grasp, running back towards the swarmed building._

* * *

><p>Her eyes burn with tears that refuse to form, blurring her vision more.<p>

* * *

><p><em>She sees cloudy blue eyes and clammy skin...she wipes away sweat from a feverish brow.<em>

_'There's nothing we can do,' she hears them whisper behind her._

* * *

><p>"SHIT!" she hears Puck yell, and she sways...then they surround her, grey skin ripped, eyes vacant, strength incomparable.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Empty, once blue eyes lock on her like she's food. Cold hands grab her, and she scrambles for the pistol, aims, and shoots-<em>

* * *

><p>She's a maelstrom of pain and rage, her crowbar nearly forgotten as she kicks and punches every inch of half-dead flesh in her reach.<p>

* * *

><p><em>She remembers.<em>

* * *

><p>"Santana!"<p>

She keeps kicking the ruined, empty corpse at her feet, rotting guts spilling over her boots.

"SANTANA!"

Two pairs of strong arms wrap around her, dragging her away as she struggles against them.

"Get off me, get the fuck off me-"

Puck tries to pin her arms at her sides, but she flails even harder.

"Santana. Please stop."

Kurt's soft voice pierces past her fury, and she goes limp in Puck's arms.

* * *

><p>They keep a wary eye on her. She hates it. She hates being watched like she'll break.<p>

* * *

><p>Once again, they stop by a creek. Kurt and Rachel sit by it, cleaning their wounds. She doesn't-she collapses, wrapping her arms around her knees, burying her face away from the sun and their gaze, equally piercing.<p>

There's a tentative hand on her shoulder, and the dam breaks. Huge, wracking sobs spill from her lungs...she inhales like she's drowning, and Puck's arms around her only feel like gallons of water crushing in on her from every side. He pulls her into his lap, her hands balled into tiny fists, pressing into his chest, her face streaming with tears. She doesn't see it, but his eyes water the more she gasps, and his arms shake trying to keep her still.

It's minutes, hours, maybe, before she breathes normally...her eyes are screwed shut, her cheek pressed into the Puck's tear-moistened t-shirt. He rocks her like a baby, his lips shushing nothings into her strewn hair.

* * *

><p>They've always picked her to be the heartless one. To make the hard decisions. To bear the consequences on her conscience. And she did it, she shouldered the guilt because when Brittany was there, there's a shadow of feeling perfect and whole, like there was no wrong that could stop her from being someone worthy of love.<p>

* * *

><p>Heartless? She thinks 'soulless' would work better, like each breath can't actually enter into non-existent lungs. She has nothing, really, and she loses track of the difference between light and dark, day and night, hunger and hollowness.<p>

She doesn't care anymore.

* * *

><p>Maybe it's pure accident. Maybe not.<p>

She walks ahead of them-selfishly, so she can't see the way they stare at her. In truth, she goes first because she doesn't care about being vulnerable.

The alleys are dark, and she keeps her grip on the flashlight while Kurt, Puck, and Rachel carry their weapons.

Her crowbar is still tied tightly across her back. Her knife is still in her pocket, closed and concealed.

Maybe it's the luck of the day. Maybe her laces were loose on purpose, her socks low enough to expose bare skin. Maybe she was careless.

* * *

><p>The smell hits them first, but there's no stopping. Puck squeezes her shoulder as a warning, but she pays no mind.<p>

"Santana..." he says, slipping the knife out of her pocket and into her hand.

She holds it limply, dangling on the edges of her fingers.

* * *

><p>They're so close. So close to answers-to the start of it all.<p>

It's no good.

* * *

><p>Four of them. Four of them against more than twenty.<p>

"Run!" one of them yells, "run, there're too many!"

And she tries, but a missed step and a loose shoe and she's splayed on the ground, the wind knocked out of her and the knife clattering from her hand. Clammy hands grab her calf, nails tearing into her skin, and she cries out. But before arms can hook under her arms and drag her up and away, they descend on her. Her fists batter against dead flesh, but she's bit and bleeding and her strength is nearly gone.

And suddenly, she's yanked out and slung over Puck's shoulder, arms flopping uselessly against his back.

* * *

><p>They shut themselves in a storage room in what looks like it was a restaurant. They lay her down softly, dropping uselessly themselves.<p>

Rachel examines her leg and arms, Puck's bruised face staring expectantly. She looks up to him, and shakes her head.

He turns, slamming his fists into the wall behind them. Kurt steadies him, the smallest of pinched, broken smiles flashing on his face-like the dying spark of hope.

Rachel brings Santana's head into her lap, pushing the hair away from her face. Kurt is the one who brings out the gun-wrapped in what is probably their cleanest shirt.

Everything seems to move slowly...seconds ticking by as her last breath is unwrapped and slipped into Puck's shaking hands.

She can feel the venom burning through her wounds, through her breathing, and she squeezes her eyes shut at the pain.

_San..._

Her eyes snap open.

_Hey._

It's her. Blue eyes, blonde hair, surrounded by a halo of sun-strewn trees.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Brittany presses her finger to her lips.

_Don't try to talk._

She cradles Santana's head in her lap, her fingers gently running through her hair. A sad smile graces her lips as Santana continues to shake with fever. She bends down, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead, as if the simple act will draw the poison from her bloodstream.

She straightens back up, parting her mouth ever-so-slightly to form the most beautiful sound.

_For you, there'll be no more crying._

Santana tries to smile, recognizing the song immediately.

_For you, the sun will be shining._

She grabs onto Brittany's wrists, trying desperately to hold on to the one person she loves the most.

_And I wish you all the love, in the world._

She keeps her eyes locked on that ethereal blue, the rest of her vision swimming.

_But most of all, I wish it from myself._

She can't stand it, and so her voice cracks as she joins in for the chorus, her throat raw.

_And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score._

Matching tears roll down each of their cheeks, Brittany's falling gently onto Santana's forehead.

_And I love you_

It's hardly a whisper from Santana's mouth, the fever burning through every fiber of her being-

_I love you_

-she convulses, biting her tongue almost completely through-

_I love you_

-the cold metal of the pistol presses against her skull and those eyes, those damn blue eyes-

_Like never before._

-there's a flash of thunder, and the world goes dark.


End file.
